Commune
by I'm Iller
Summary: Ficlets featuring Il Lupo and the Footpad written for a friend.
1. Black of Night on Your Face

Lupo thinks there's something unforgettable about the smell of Rome, a scent like stone, like leather, like dung, like fish, and like sewage wrapped up in the musky aroma of suffocating, holy incense trying to cover it up.

Lupo had boldly told Lanz that he smelled like this, and it earned him a week long black eye.

In all honesty, Lupo knows Lanz smells nothing like the blend of stench coming from Rome. There's some similarities, he won't lie (leather, linen, _dung_—no, no: fish), but there's also some differences which he enjoys getting a whiff of here and there when he manages to sidle up close, those little secret scents he tries to track sometimes to live up to his nickname: the metallic drench of coin, freshly tilled earth, smoke and wood, tobacco, onion, cilantro, stolen bread. The thief doesn't smell like any one thing in particular, and Lupo believes he likes that the best.

Lupo tells Lanz this, that he thinks Lanz smells "like life," and, afterward, Lupo thinks he prefers the black eye over the irritable grumbling Lanz does for three days, asking him, "What the shit does 'life' smell like, you goatish giglet?"

To which Lupo remarks that he didn't know Lanz knew such big words, and he gets another week long black eye, the other Templars, like Teodor, wondering aloud, "Did you fall between the pews or a he-woman's legs?"

Lanz later tells him that his blushing goes very well with his purplish black eye.


	2. Carnal

The prowling Templar assassin can always get him fired up, get him flushed around the neck and jaws, hot and trembling, hard, aching, and Lanz isn't exactly sure how it's so easy to accomplish. Despite having absolutely no real religious affiliation, Lanz is exceedingly uncomfortable cramped in the back pew of Santa Maria di Loreto, Lupo's mouth and hands on him, Lupo's breath in his ear making him strained between the legs, making his hips roll eagerly.

A savage hunger rises up in the both of them, and they quietly fondle each other under the cover of shadows, the hum of the city from outside echoing through the open spaces of the cathedral. It seems like they have all the cover in the world, like the act itself, their oral and tactile wanderings, will be over before any trouble rears its head—and then in the front, a cough, just loud enough to startle Lanz rigid, enough to make him tense; Lupo continues undisturbed, and the cough again ricochets off the stone walls.

Lanz knocks Lupo under the chin in a sudden scurry to get his clothes back on, and Lupo growls in frustration, bitten tongue sore, and he wrangles Lanz into place until the thief snarls in return, low and airy. There's a momentary flash of choice, and Lupo considers pressing forward regardless of resistance, excited to finally get the glove off the thief's hand, to find out what is hidden beneath it, to twist that pale and small body under his own weight.

The harsh shove is Lupo's deciding factor, and the assassin, still half clothed, still hard, still flushed, curls away at the seat's edge of the pew looking sour. The coughing priest's footsteps draw closer at first, and Lanz freezes, but then the steps recede into the distance, leaving nothing but the sound of blood pumping in their ears and their labored heaving.

The dark scowl that passes over Lanz's face is meant to be a threat to Lupo for their near discovery, but with embarrassment on the horizon of the thief's eyes, the threat is little more than a slap on the back of the wrist, a whap with a straw broom. When Lanz is clothed, or partly so, Lupo begins to wriggle impatiently and pathetically, whimpering thickly as a sign of his immense suffering, and Lanz snaps at him to cease it before the sound bounces off every corner of the building.

By the time Lupo tucks himself, half hard, into his trousers, Lanz has vanished from the immediate premises, and Lupo is left to wonder exactly how the man can make such a fast getaway without poking someone's eye out on the street.


End file.
